Oct 31, 2025
I started writing this guide because I’ve seen too many horses suffer, not from injury or illness, but from ignorance. Not from bad luck, but from people who never stopped to ask the right questions. I’ve ridden hundreds of kilometers on my horse’s back, trained him for years, and watched him transform from a broken animal into a true partner, someone who taught me more about life than any book ever could. And yet, every time I visit a new farm, I see the same patterns: the neglect, the profit-first mindset, the riders who think they’re experts because they’ve been on a horse once.
This isn’t just about choosing a good place to ride. It’s about protecting your horse from being treated like a commodity. It’s about recognizing that when you bring a horse into your life, you’re not just buying a pet or a riding toy, you’re taking on a responsibility that no one should take lightly.
I wrote this because I’ve lived it. I’ve switched farms over a dozen times, each time leaving behind a place where my horse was treated as a means to an end. The worst moment came after I left town for work. When I returned, he wasn’t the same. He was thin, withdrawn, his eyes dull. He didn’t even lift his head when I called his name. That night, I sat beside him in silence, tears falling without warning. I had failed him. Not because I didn’t love him, but because I hadn’t done enough to protect him from a system that doesn’t care.
I’ve seen statistics from farms that left me numb. In one small stable, capacity barely over 25 horses, the kill rate was 13 in a single year. That’s not a number. It’s a massacre disguised as routine.
I stood there, watching it unfold, horses dying one after another, not from injury or illness, but from neglect so deep it became invisible to those who should have seen it. The owners didn’t flinch. No apologies. No investigation. No accountability. Just silence.
It wasn’t an accident. It was a pattern. A culture where death is just part of the cost of doing business.
And the worst part? They don’t even admit it. Not out loud. Not to themselves. Not to anyone. They pretend it’s normal. Like losing a horse is just… life.
But it’s not. Not when you’re standing in a stall where the air still smells of blood and fear. Not when you see a foal born into a world already stacked against him. Not when you know that every time a horse dies, it’s not the animal’s fault, it’s the system’s.
I’ve seen farms where the mortality rate is higher than the birth rate. Where horses are replaced like old tires. Where no one questions why they’re gone, because no one cares enough to look.
This isn’t farming. This isn’t riding. This is abuse dressed up as tradition.
And until someone holds them to account, until we stop treating horse lives as expendable, this will keep happening.
Because the truth is: if a farm can’t keep its horses alive, it has no right to own them.
That’s why I began to study. I read everything, books on equine anatomy, behavior, psychology. I studied farrier practices, veterinary medicine, training philosophies. I spent hours observing horses not just at rest, but in motion, in turnout, in handling. I learned to read their bodies, their eyes, their energy. Because I realized something simple but powerful: a horse will tell you everything you need to know, if you’re willing to listen.
So here is what I’ve learned. This isn’t theory. This is real. This is raw. This is the truth I wish someone had told me before I bought my first horse.
First, look at the horses themselves. Not the shiny coats, not the clean stalls, but the condition of their backs, their muscles, their posture. A strong topline isn’t just about looks. It’s about balance. About how they carry themselves, how they move, how they respond to pressure. If a horse walks with stiffness, if its shoulders are uneven, if it tucks its tail constantly, that’s not normal. That’s pain. That’s stress. That’s a sign that something is wrong, not with the horse, but with the environment.
Focus on the topline, muscle symmetry, posture, and overall energy. A healthy horse carries itself with balance and ease. If you see stiffness, uneven shoulders, tucked tail, or lethargy, that’s not laziness, it’s pain or stress. The body tells the story.

Then watch for behavior. Horses don’t lie. They don’t pretend. If a horse paces, chews wood, flicks its tail violently, or avoids eye contact, it’s not acting out, it’s reacting. To fear. To boredom. To loneliness. I’ve seen horses stall-bound for 20 hours a day, only let out for 30 minutes of “turnout.” That’s not care. That’s imprisonment. And the rider? They call it “training.”
Horses don’t fake emotions easily as humans do. Pacing, weaving, cribbing, tail swishing, or avoiding eye contact are signs of mental distress. These behaviors develop in environments where horses are isolated, overworked, or ignored. If the horse seems anxious or withdrawn, the farm isn’t meeting its basic needs.
I have seen horses locked in the small stalls for weeks and months, without even the chance to exercise, it is like a jail for them.
Next, check the cleanliness. Not just the surface. Look under the bedding. Is there mold? Is the stall damp? Are the walls cracked? Is there a smell of ammonia? These aren’t minor details. They affect health. Respiratory issues start here. So do infections. A clean stable isn’t just about aesthetics, it’s about safety.
Check for the following: Is there mold? Is the stall damp? Are walls cracked? Does it smell of ammonia? Poor hygiene leads to respiratory disease, skin infections, and laminitis. A clean stable isn’t a luxury, it’s a necessity.
Now, go deeper. Watch the staff. Do they talk to the horses? Do they touch them gently? Or do they rush past, treating them like objects? A good team doesn’t just feed and groom, they understand. They know the horses by name. They notice changes. They adjust routines. They speak calmly. They don’t shout. They don’t use force. They lead with patience, not ego.
Do the staff, other riders, farm/ club managers, and horse owners there, interact with the horses respectfully? Do they use gentle hands? Can they name the horses? A good team listens, observes, and adapts. If staff rush through tasks, shout, or treat horses like machines, the culture is broken.
And if you’re not sure what to look for, ask yourself this: Would I trust this person with my own horse?
Safety is non-negotiable. Check the fencing. Is it secure? Are gates latched properly? Are the footing levels and consistent? Are helmets required? Are emergency procedures posted? I’ve seen riders fall because the ground was uneven. I’ve seen horses panic because the fence was weak. One accident can ruin a lifetime.
Fencing must be secure. Gates should latch properly. Footing should be level and consistent. Helmets should be required. Emergency plans should be visible. Safety isn’t optional, it’s essential. A single mistake can cost a life.
Equipment matters. Saddles, bridles, stirrups, all of it. I’ve seen saddles so old they were cracking, stirrups bent, bridles frayed. Some farms use recycled gear, thinking it’s cost-effective. But it’s not. It’s dangerous. A poorly fitting saddle causes back pain. A loose girth causes sudden falls. A worn bridle can snap mid-ride. You wouldn’t drive a car with bald tires. Why would you ride with broken gear?
Saddles shouldn’t crack or sag. Bridles shouldn’t fray. Stirrups shouldn’t bend. Old, damaged gear causes pain and accidents. If the tack looks like it’s seen three lifetimes, so has the horse. Real care means investing in quality tools.
I have talked with Mr. Ozgur Pastanli, a great horseman, with unique horse club, who helped me to realize checking riding equipments is the right way especially for beginners.
Vets are another red flag. Every farm must have a registered vet on call. Not some guy who sells pills online. Not a friend of the owner who “knows a little.” A real vet. Someone who has trained, passed exams, and understands physiology. I’ve seen caretakers inject antibiotics without diagnosis. Mix up medications. Use human drugs. Give injections without sterilizing needles. That’s not care. That’s criminal negligence.
And hooves, don’t ignore them. Even if you’re not an expert, you can see if they’re long, unbalanced, or causing tripping. Hoof imbalance leads to lameness. Lameness leads to early retirement. Early retirement means death for many horses. Because they’re sold off, abandoned, or worse.
Poor hoof care leads to chronic lameness and early retirement. Regular trimming is non-negotiable.
But the most important thing, what I’ve learned the hard way, is this: Is this farm horse-centered or profit-driven?
If the answer is profit-driven, walk away. No matter how nice the barn looks, how friendly the staff seems, how convenient the location is, walk away.
Because the truth is, when a farm exists to make money, the horse becomes a product. A tool. A source of income. And when that happens, the horse loses value. Not in terms of price, but in terms of worth.
If horses are used to generate income without regard for well-being, walk away. A true horse center prioritizes health, routine, and emotional balance over bookings and fees.
I’ve seen farms that charge $150 a week to board a horse, but only turn them out twice a week. I’ve seen trainers who schedule six lessons a day for the same horse. I’ve seen owners who sell horses with known injuries, calling them “perfect for trail rides.” That’s not honesty. That’s deception.
And then there are the fake gatekeepers, the ones who claim to be experts but can’t explain anything. They’ll say, “You just have to feel it,” or “It’s tradition.” But when you ask why, they can’t answer. They’ve never read a book. They’ve never studied. They rely on myths, repetition, ego.
A real teacher doesn’t hide knowledge. They point you to sources. They encourage questions. They want you to grow beyond them.
If something feels off, it probably is. Don’t accept vague answers. Ask about feeding schedules, turnout time, training methods, and vet records. If they get defensive or dismissive, that’s a warning. A real farm welcomes scrutiny.
I wrote this guide because I owe my horse more than words can say. He saved me from a failing marriage, from depression, from a life that felt meaningless. He stood by me when I had nothing. He warned me about people who smiled but meant harm. He gave me purpose when I had none.
He taught me that discipline isn’t control, it’s communication. That honesty isn’t weakness, it’s strength. That listening is the highest form of respect.
So if you’re reading this, and you’re thinking about buying a horse, boarding one, or even taking lessons, ask yourself: Am I doing this for me, or for the horse?
Because if it’s for you, you’ll leave. If it’s for the horse, you’ll stay. You’ll learn. You’ll grow. You’ll fight for him. You’ll protect him.
And if you’re a rider, remember this: You’re not just sitting on a horse. You’re walking beside a living being who trusts you. Who depends on you. Who deserves better.
This guide isn’t about perfection. It’s about awareness. It’s about seeing clearly. It’s about choosing wisely.
I wrote it not to judge anyone, but to help. To prevent another horse from suffering. To protect another rider from disappointment. To honor the bond we share with these magnificent creatures.
My horse is not mine. He is mine. Not because I bought him, but because he chose me. And I promised him, I promised him I would never let him down.
So if you’re ready to ride, to train, to live with a horse, do it right. Learn. Listen. Care.
Because the horse isn’t just a part of your journey.
He is the journey.